Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Wells rolled his eyes at a floor-to-ceiling banner depicting Buster Calhoun behind the wheel of a Mercedes and walked faster out of the lobby, exiting into the humid morning air. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, ready to wash the course in Texas gold. A few staff members and the odd caddie were watching it happen. They looked at Wells curiously as he passed, probably noticing that his polo shirt didn’t have a sponsor logo on it, since nobody wanted to put their money behind him.
“Aren’t you glad you put your trust in me, Josephine?” he muttered, stepping onto the dewy course and wading into the mist, slowly inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass.
I won’t give up on you as long as you don’t give up on yourself again.
His chin jerked up when a figure appeared in the mist in front of him, a person coming in off the fairway for the first hole. As they came closer and took shape, he realized it was a woman—and unfortunately, he knew that shape very well.
“Belle?” He moved into the mist, intending to meet her halfway. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”
When they drew even, she blinked, obviously surprised to see him. Rays of sunshine stabbed through the moist air around her, like they were harkening the Second Coming. “Walking the course. What are you doing?”
“The same, obviously.”
“Oh.”
He flicked his gaze downward, taking in her sleep shorts and T-shirt. They were covered in smiling giraffes. “You’re wearing pajamas, Josephine.”
She winced. “I thought I would sneak back into my room before anyone saw me. Couldn’t you sleep?”
“No,” he half shouted at her, since his lack of rest was largely due to her mouth, how she’d looked in that green dress, and a million other annoying reasons, most of which originated with her.
“Well.” She moved to stand at his side, so they were both looking out over the course, though their height difference meant her view didn’t reach as far. “If you have the jitters, this is a good time to remind yourself that it’s about the game.” Man, her voice was . . . soothing. “Not the people and shouting and cameras. Try to remember the course just like this when all the noise starts. A big, quiet field. It’s here to be enjoyed, not feared.”
“Are you my caddie or my Zen master?”
“Get you a woman who does both, Whitaker.”
He snorted and the sound almost, almost, turned into a chuckle.
They stood in the silence for a few moments, watching the sun rise in the distance.
“You know . . .” She tucked a stray piece of hair into her ponytail. “If you have something on your mind, now would be a good time to let it off. We have golfer-caddie confidentiality. Legally, I can’t repeat anything you tell me.”
“That’s not a thing, Josephine.”
“I just made it a thing.”
“I have nothing on my mind.”
This time, she snorted.
He turned a frown on her.
Damn, she was annoying. And the rising sun was picking up secret strands of gold in her hair and amber flecks in her eyes. Annoying. All of it. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking, since you woke up with so much wisdom this morning?”
She pursed her lips and Wells had to look away. Or risk reaching over and tracing the bottom one, so he could know once and for all if it was as smooth as it looked.
It is. You know it is.
Those lips would slide down his stomach like chocolate sauce on a scoop of ice cream.
The exact last thing he should be thinking about right now. Or ever.
She wasn’t there to hook up. She was there to save her family’s shop.
Her health was on the line, goddammit.
If he didn’t take this tournament seriously, that made him a bastard.
Since when did he care about being a bastard?
Wells cleared his throat hard and let words leave his mouth unplanned. “Buck was there last night. And I guess every time I see Buck, I remember how he gave me this opportunity to be great and I pissed it away. To the press, he used to say, ‘All the kid needed was a chance,’ but maybe . . . I don’t know, maybe I take chances and set them on fire. Buck isn’t the first one to get sick of my shit and bail.”
“Who else was there?”
He laughed without humor. “You never see any proud parents standing on the sidelines cheering me on, do you? No, because I was nothing but a delinquent growing up. They couldn’t wait to get work on a cruise ship and sail away. I don’t blame them for it, either.” He paused to drag in a breath. “Maybe I don’t have the right . . . tools to handle success, you know? Maybe I have this skill—and that’s it. None of the character that makes me deserve it. Nothing . . . else.”